Overloaded
by nanniships
Summary: My attempt at a drabble, that turned into a ficlet because I suck at drabbles, based on the prompt "women's work" from it-is-bugs drabble challenge. Which I failed, because I suck at drabbles. Anyway, enjoy this mildly naughty Lucien and Jean thing.


Overloaded

Lucien Blake closed the door to his bedroom behind with with an audible sigh of relief. Leaning against it, he closed his eyes and tried to banish the vision of Jean's disappointed and piqued side eye glare – a vision with which he was altogether too familiar.

He probably should have thought twice before using the sheets from the linen closet to test blood spatter patterns. He should probably think twice before a great many things., starting with the amount of whiskey he imbibed before running these sorts of tests.

 _At least it wasn't actual blood_ , he'd tried to explain. But her narrowed eyes and curt gesture to the hamper in the corner left him in no doubt that she wasn't at all interested in the finer forensic points. Further explanations were ignored and he was left stood next to the washer with his arms full of sticky, stained sheets like some gobsmacked drongo while Jean stalked away muttering about _extra work is always woman's work_.

With another sigh, he scrubbed his face with his hand and staggered over to sit on the side of his bed. As he began loosening his tie, he winced at the memory of the pile of sheets on top of the hamper-sheets, he was reliably informed, that had just seen the agitator not less than four days ago. He'd need to do something to make things up with his housekeeper. God help him, if she took it into her head to find greener, and less bizarre pastures.

He'd need to figure out something…

* * *

Always a light sleeper, he bolted upright in bed immediately as his door was opened. Squinting into the darkness at the shadowed figure, every bit of him tensed. When his eyes adjusted, and the person moved further into the room, he felt most of the tension drain away instantly.

"Jean? What is it? What's going on!?"

His housekeeper put her finger up to her lips and glared at him.

"Are you alright?" he asked in a lower voice, beginning to clamber out of bed.

Her silence and continued glare as he came to stand before her began to make him uneasy. Surely, she wasn't so incensed about the sheets that she'd come to murder him in his bed?

"I'm deeply sorry about the sheets," he blurted out in a whisper. The part of his brain that had begun edging towards full alertness began earbashing him as a bloody, piss weak bloke. The other part was only hoping Jean wasn't reaching into the pocket of her dressing gown for a cosh.

She wasn't reaching for a cosh.

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open as she decisively untied the belt on her dressing gown and threw it open and off her shoulders, revealing that she was wearing quite nothing underneath. Her eyes continued to glare into his as she took a step forward in her altogether.

"Jean...what...you're...why did you…?" he sputtered, as she took another step closer.

"Shut it, Lucien," she growled as she reached out and yanked the front of his pajama top apart with frightening strength. "You never make things better when you open your gob."

Buttons flew in all directions as she pulled him towards her. All the breath left his lungs as her mouth crashed down on his and her perfect breasts scalded a path across his chest….

* * *

It might have been the pings of the buttons hitting the floor that woke him - tangled, sweaty, and heaving for breath. Somehow, he'd managed to twist up his pajama top in his sleep so much that several had flown off. He sat up in his bed with his head in his hands, praying that he hadn't shouted anything in his sleep.

Especially his housekeeper's name.

As his heartbeat began to resume a normal tempo, he made an attempt to straighten things up so he could try to go back to sleep. It wasn't until he'd given up and just shoved the quilt and sheets off onto the floor that he noticed how damp and sticky his pajama pants were and he groaned.

He wasn't bloody _fifteen_ anymore, damn it.

But, he admitted to himself with a little grin, it _had_ been one hell of a dream.

Unable to get it out of his head, now that he'd begun remembering all the little details, he decided to just go ahead and get up. If he hurried, he might beat everyone else up and maybe take care of a few things.

* * *

Jean Beezley peered around the corner to the laundry room cautiously at the low voiced swearing. Leaning against the wall, she crossed her arms and watched the doctor's antics with a raised eyebrow. With one last grunt, Lucien shoved the last of _his_ sheets on top of the ones he nearly destroyed the previous day and began fiddling with the controls.

"And just what do you think you're doing, Dr. Blake?" she asked sternly, hiding her slight smile when he turned around abruptly and stared at her with his mouth hanging open for a moment.

"Oh! I was just..." he cleared his throat nervously. "I thought I'd pitch in a bit."

"With the laundry?"

"Why not," he said with a little grin, "it's not just women's work, you know."

He was treated to a suspicious tilt of her head and a hint of amused exasperation.

"You've overloaded it," she pointed out.

He stared into the tub in bemusement. Jean rolled her eyes and gently shifted him out of the way.

"How many sets do you _have_ in there?" she demanded incredulously.

"Ah, well...all of yesterday's. And I thought I'd do my own for a change-"

"Yours were put on your bed fresh not two days ago," she informed him. "I _do_ have schedule."

"Oh...sorry about that."

He'd not actually noticed his sheets. A wry grin crossed his face as he speculated that, for an observant bloke, there was an awful bloody lot he didn't notice. And even more that he took for granted.

"Thank you anyway, but I'll handle the laundry, Lucien," she informed him firmly. When he didn't leave immediately, she gave him a gentle shove towards the kitchen. "It's early yet, but tea's nearly ready and I'll be about breakfast once I get _this_ all sorted out and get dressed."

He moved away obediently, glancing back once just long enough to see her begin to bend over the tub, her dressing gown gaping open at the top a bit from the motion.

Bloody pajamas. Damn.


End file.
